Breaking the System
by obeytherandomness
Summary: The winged are rich and the wingless are poor, but all that's going to change when a winged man is born in a wingless family. Johnlock. Wingfic.


Just before you read this, I want to mention that I do not own Sherlock.

P.S. To anyone who got a message saying that I updated this story. The only thing that I did was fix some grammatical errors. Apparently my brain short circuited at some point during this story and I mixed up your and you're a lot. Luckily someone pointed it out to me and I was able to fix.

Please, guys, if you ever see any mistakes in my story, please point it out so I can hopefully fix it in a timely manner.

Thanks so much guys.

* * *

Ever since the beginning of time, there have been two dominant species. Both were very similar, but there was one thing that held them apart. They both were blessed with two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, a heart, a brain, and other such vital organs, but one of them was also gifted with wings. Although these species were so very similar, they looked at each other and they saw something different from themselves. They saw something they didn't understand. They saw something they feared.

A war broke out between the two species. Each holding its own despite their own disadvantages until finally the winged men prevailed. The winged men crowned one of their own as king and then settled into a comfortable life in the higher class, leaving the wingless to fend for themselves as lowerclassmen.

The class system has continued to hold true throughout the years despite England becoming much wealthier and the wingless being able to earn their own money. The winged were always born to the higher classmen and the wingless were always born to the lower classmen. At least that's what They want you to believe.

The truth is that no one can control who or what they are going to give birth to. Winged parents gave birth to the wingless and wingless parents gave birth to the winged. They did not want Their lack of control to destroy the class system that had long since become unnecessary so They devised a plan. Whenever a winged couple gave birth to a child that was not winged, the child would immediately be whisked away only to be replaced by one with wings as soon as possible. Whenever a wingless couple gave birth to a winged child, the child would be stolen before the parents were even allowed to hold it and a wingless child would replace it days, sometimes even weeks, later.

The winged never made a complaint. They wanted their class system to stay in tact and most of them knew that they could never accept a wingless into their home despite it being of their blood. The wingless, on the other hand, were distraught. They cared for the children like they were their own because they thought that they were their own, but they knew something had happened. Most of the lowerclassmen believed that They were taking the children away to chop off their wings, punishing them for being born into a family below what they should have been given.

That's why when the Watson couple got their last ultrasound and saw wings despite the doctor's desperate attempts to hide the things from their eyes they knew they had to disappear. And disappear they did. They moved to London with barely enough money to keep rent and waited for the baby to be born. They did not go to the hospital when Ms. Watson went into labor. Instead they stayed at home and Julia Watson worked through the pain until she finally gave birth to a small John Hamish Watson, whose glistening white wings were so large that they were able to wrap around his whole small body like a blanket.

After that the Watsons were faced with their toughest challenge yet. Now that they had birthed the beautiful baby boy, they had to hide him from the prying eyes of individuals. They wrapped him in blankets and clothes that were much to large for him until he was old enough to learn how to wrap his wings around himself well enough that he could hide them under a simple jumper and some loose jeans. He looked fat, and sometimes he wanted more than anything to show off his amazing wings, but he could tell by all the precautions that his parents took that he must keep himself a secret. The only time that he was allowed to release his wings was when his father took him on a "hiking" trip so that he could teach himself how to fly because his parents couldn't bare to deprive him of that freedom.

Then Julia Watson was pregnant once again. They decided not to even attempt to go to the hospital this time. They would not risk having another winged child and not being able to stop the doctors from taking it when they had barely managed to do so the first time. When Harriet Watson was born, she was wingless. John was forced to keep his secret even from his own sister.

John didn't let his secret get in his way, though. He worked hard towards all that he wanted to accomplish. He got good grades in school, got accepted to St. Bart's, and then joined the army as an army doctor.

However, John realized once he set foot in Afghanistan that he would not be able to hide his wings inside his uniform. The equipment would just be too constricting so he was forced to go to his commanding officer.

* * *

"Permission to enter?" John Watson called from outside the bunker that served as the commanding officer's office.

"Permission granted," the man sighed. "What do you want private?"

"My name is John Watson, sir," John saluted the commanding officer, "and I'm reporting for duty."

"So you're our new doctor then?" the man asked.

"Yes sir," John nodded.

"Alright," the man said. "I'll have someone escort you to your bunker and show you where the hospital is."

"Sir?" John asked.

"What?" the man replied.

"I have a request to make," John said. It was best to get it over with now before the others had a chance to see him.

"What do you want?" the commanding officer raised a brow.

"As you have probably read in my file, I am born of a lower class family," he said.

"Yea?" the commanding officer asked.

"It also says in my file that I am wingless," John waited for the officer to nod before he carried on. "That report isn't true. I won't be able to hide it from you or any of the other men so I thought I should let you know now. My request is this: when writing reports on me, please don't mention them."

The commanding officer's eyes widened and he searched behind John for the wings despite knowing that they were probably under the jumper that the man was wearing even in the heat. "Very well," he agreed after one tense minute. After all, he knew of the horror stories about what happened to lowerclassmen with wings too. He also knew that any upperclassmen that committed a heinous crime were stripped of their wings and he didn't want that to happen to one of his men.

"Thank you," John sighed. He was actually looking forward to not having to hide his wings. It would not have been pleasant in that heat anyway.

"You are dismissed," the man said and John saluted once before allowing himself to be taken to his bunker.

As soon as he got to his bunker, John stripped the hot jumper off along with his shirt and allowed his wings to open fully before settling back behind him so that he could slip on his new uniform. He was almost glad that there was no one in the bunker when he opened his wings because it allowed the massive things to open to their incredibly large wingspan without any sort of interference.

* * *

At first the men all despised him because they all assumed that he was another upperclassmen who that they could just show off how strong they were while out on the field without getting hurt, but, as John saved their lives and their limbs, they began to trust him. They listened to his stories and they liked him. And then, once they realized that he was not what they thought, but was instead a lowerclassmen, they swore that they would never divulge his secret to anyone. Even as John climbed the ladder until his rank finally reached captain, they all remained loyal to him because he remained loyal to them.

There was only one man that was never told about his lot in life while he was out on the field. This man was different from all of his other men, though. This man had wings. Very large wings, which meant something since the larger the wings the more power. This man was the prince.

* * *

"Captain Watson!" one of the nurses woke him despite his having only just gone to sleep an hour ago. Normally he would have groaned as he got up, but he could tell by the woman's voice that whatever was happening was serious.

"What is it Susan?" he asked even as he stood and got ready to head to the hospital.

"A nearby base has been hit," she explained quickly. "They're transporting the survivors here as we speak."

John nodded and headed out the door with the woman following him. There were already people in the hospital so he immediately went to work. His first patient shocked him for many reasons. The first being that he had never actually met another person who had wings and the second being that he recognized the face of the man as the Prince. He didn't let his shock slow him down, though. The large dirty blonde wings that signified this man's power were heavily damaged and, if he had any hope of saving them, he had to work immediately.

Fortunately, John was able to fix them completely and he smiled as he told the prince that he would make a full recovery before turning to help with one of the other injured, but the prince was not happy with this.

"Where are you going?" the prince asked as he grabbed onto John's arm. "I'm still injured here." It was true that he was still injured, but his wounds all consisted mainly of a few scratches and bruises due to the fact that he had instinctively covered himself with his wings. The wounds were nothing that couldn't be dealt with later.

"I have other patients," John said simply before shaking the hand off of him and heading towards another man who was wailing in pain with a leg twisted in a direction that it was definitely not meant to be in.

"Come back here," the prince commanded as he sat up in his bed. "I command you to come back here." John just ignored him.

John didn't spare the prince another glance until he was done, unfortunately, cutting off the leg of the wailing man, but, when he did look up, he wasn't pleased by what he saw. There were two nurses standing by the prince doing his every command as he smirked and told them to do stupid things.

"What are you two doing?" John glared at them even as he moved on to another patient. His wings expanded slightly in a commanding way, but he refused to let them open all the way in their confined area.

"We-we're tending to-" one of the girls ventured to say.

"No," John growled. "You are not. You are going to do your job and help us tend to those who actually need you." Then he turned his glare on everyone else in the room and his wings widened just a fraction more to show how serious he was. "And if I find any of you slacking on your jobs right now, there will be punishments."

John went back to his work, the two nurses immediately moved away from the prince, and no one went near the man again. John could hear him commanding everyone in the room to do as he said, but everyone knew that, in the hospital in Afghanistan, John was in charge. No questions asked.

It was hours later when John finally finished with the survivors. He was happy to say that most of them had survived despite some serious injuries. They would all be flown home as soon as possible. They would all survive the war. Now, he knew, the only thing that they had to do was to survive their own mind.

"I'm talking to you," John heard the prince growl as he finally allowed himself to relax enough to let his senses tune in things that didn't equate to danger. John ignored him, though, and left the hospital so that he could go back to his bunker and hopefully get more than a few hours of sleep before the next crisis happened. "I command you to stop," the prince said as he followed John out of the hospital. John would be lying if he said he was surprised.

John sighed and turned to face the irate prince. The last thing he wanted was for the man to follow him into the bunker. It would be best to do this now.

"So now you're following my orders," the prince smiled smugly.

"No," John said, "because, as you can see, I am a higher rank than you. That means that I don't have to listen to anything that you say."

"I am the prince," the prince growled as he allowed his wings to expand to their full length. John was impressed by the size of them and he couldn't help but notice that the prince probably thought that his was the largest wingspan. He would be greatly disappointed to find out that he was wrong.

"First of all," John growled as he slowly opened his wings, "you had better put those things away or you risk losing them." The prince's wings shrunk slightly at the thought, but he refused to back down. "Second of all, don't go yelling that you're the prince. We don't need the Taliban to be swarming us especially when we have so many injured here. And, third of all, this is a fucking war. There's no room for those who think that this is just a game. If you want to go commanding people however you want, you had better go home because we aren't going to listen to you. Your orders mean nothing here. They are just that whines of a child that we really don't need around to endanger us all." John knew that the prince was only a few years younger than he was, but he still felt that all of his words rung true.

"How dare you speak to me that way," the prince hissed. He still hadn't notice that John's wings had reached the length of his own wingspan and were still growing, but he would notice soon.

"Well, _Private," _John made sure to put extra emphasis on the man's rank as he continued. "I don't really think that you have any say in the matter since I am your commanding officer. And, while we're on the subject, I'm going to tell you this once and I will not repeat myself so you had better listen close. Your petty demands to have every one of your tiny little wounds tended to by _my _medical staff put lives in danger. You pulled people who could have saved those men who _died _today away from their work so that you could get them to kiss a little booboo. I'm not saying that their deaths are your fault since there was really not much any of us could do for them, but I want you to remember that, when you pull people away from their jobs during a war, you are putting so many lives in danger." By now John's wings were at their largest and they actually dwarfed the prince's

The prince shrank away from John as the words hit him and he realized the truth of them even as John turned and headed towards his bunker to finally get some sleep. Everyone watched him go with wide eyes because none of them would have dared to speak to the prince in that way and because none of them had actually ever seen John's full wingspan. All of a sudden everyone, including the prince, gained a lot more respect for Captain John Hamish Watson.

* * *

John never saw the prince again, but he heard that the man had indeed been invalided home with the rest of the men. John was invalided home only days later. He had been shot in the shoulder, just barely missing his heart, and then he got an infection that almost killed him. The only thing that he was grateful for was the fact that his glistening white wings remained unharmed.

Before John was sent home, he pressed one of his feathers into Bill Murray's hand. The man had saved his life and that was all that he had to give. The value of the gift was not lost on Murray, though, so the man smiled and waited to watch John be shipped off before he tucked it in with his valuable things.

John arrived back home with a wounded shoulder, a psychosomatic limp, a slight tremor in his left hand, and his jumper back in its place. London seemed to reject him even more now than it had before. The familiar feelings of loneliness that he always felt when walking amongst the wingless was were added onto the feelings of helplessness that he felt now that he knew that he could be neither a soldier nor a doctor. Even his therapist couldn't help him despite everything that she tried to make him do. He was alone.

Then he saw Mike Stamford. A man that he had once known from St. Bart's. They exchanged pleasant greetings and then they spoke for a little while in a park near their alma mater. Mike asked what happened to him because last he heard John was in Afghanistan getting shot at, and John replied simply that he got shot. Then the conversation turned to living in London and getting a flat share. When John said that he didn't think that anyone would want him as a flat mate, Mike took him to meet Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock caught John's eye as soon as he walked into the lab where they would be introduced. The man was tall and pale with dark colors wrapped all around him. Even his wings, which were just slightly smaller than that of the prince, were a deep black color. The exact opposite of John's, was all John could think about. At least, that is, until Sherlock began spouting his deductions. John was always amazed by a smart mind.

Despite all this, John did not think that he would enjoy living with Sherlock. In all actuality, he would have rather lived on his own so that he would be able to spread his wings in the privacy of his own home, but he couldn't afford it so instead he went to meet Sherlock at 221B Baker Street with only the intention of looking at it. He was shocked when he found himself moving into the room upstairs, but he didn't really care. Hiding his wings was a small price to pay to be able to live with the amazing Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

"You know John," Sherlock said one day while the two of them were sitting in the living room after a long chase, "you are rather quick for somewhat who weighs so much." Good old Sherlock never knew how to be subtle, but John didn't care. In fact, when he had first found out about the man's ability to deduce things, he had been afraid that Sherlock would find out that his weight wasn't really consistent with the excess of his girth, but he had totally forgotten that his massive wings were very heavy. He actually fell over a lot when he was a child simply because he couldn't hold the things up, but as he grew older his muscles developed to hold them and then continued to develop so that he could have the strength for the army.

"I've always been like this," John shrugged, making sure not to say anything that was a lie so that Sherlock wouldn't be able to tell him otherwise. It didn't take Sherlock to tell when John was lying. He really was a horrible liar.

"But how are you able to run so fast?" Sherlock asked.

"I've always been like this," John repeated. "I've gotten used to it. It's not like they would let me into the army if I didn't have any physical skills."

"That's true," Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. He knew that John was hiding something from him, but he had yet to be able to figure out what it was. He had immediately devoted all his free time to observing John when he had free time when John moved in with him. The whole reason he had first invited John into his home was because the man was able to hide something from him, but John was slowly starting to grow on him. The moment John moved into his house, Sherlock knew that he would never be able to let the man go even if he found out what the secret was that John kept.

* * *

And so they stayed together. Sherlock was always watching John, except when the man was able to slip away for one of his secret flights, and John was always helping Sherlock, except when Sherlock didn't really feel like waiting for him. It wasn't a very good system, but they were happy with it nonetheless. It worked.

The two of them made it through a cabbie, Sebastian Wilkes, Jim Moriarty, and a demon HOUND with their lives in tact. Then The Woman came along. The Woman that Sherlock couldn't deduce. The one person who was able to hid more things from Sherlock then even John was able to. Her name was Irene Adler.

Irene quickly made her way into Sherlock's mind. She messed with it while she played the distressed maiden dressed only in Sherlock's coat then played with it as she took on her usual role as dominatrix. She kept him interested with her several requests for dinner that set off a very inappropriate text tone.

John would never admit that he felt jealous.

Then Irene Adler died. She sent her safety to Sherlock Holmes and then her body was found with her skull smashed. There was no face to identify, but Sherlock identified her by her war outfit. The man was distraught. His infatuation was dead and he didn't know what to do about it. He stopped speaking as much and he created a sad violin tune just for her.

John didn't know whether to be happy that she was gone or sad that Sherlock was so upset. He felt horrible for even thinking about that.

The only problem was that Irene wasn't dead. She had never been dead. John would never know how she was able to fool Sherlock, though he assumed it had something to do with how emotional he was when he identified the body, but what he did know was that Sherlock needed to be aware of her life. She spread her blood red wings, which were about half the size of John's, in an attempt to make John listen to her words as she tried to convince him not to tell Sherlock, but he would not listen. He refused her requested services and he told her that he would be telling Sherlock if she didn't. Finally, she sent him another one of her stupid texts only for them to both realize that Sherlock had followed him there.

John didn't know at the time that he was actually getting Sherlock into more danger of a broken heart by reuniting them. He didn't know that that had been her plan all along. He didn't know, but he still blamed himself when all was said and done. He blamed himself for Sherlock's pain and he blamed himself for Irene's death. He blamed himself, but he was not going to tell Sherlock about it.

* * *

"Something's bothering you," Sherlock stated a few days after John forced himself to lie to Sherlock by saying that Irene had gotten into a witness protection program in America.

"It's nothing," John mumbled without looking at him.

"Nonsense," Sherlock said. "Your shoulders are slouched. You have bags under your eyes, which means that you've barely gotten any sleep. You've barely left that chair except to get more tea and go to the bathroom. You haven't really eaten anything except the bare minimum. And you can't even look me in the eye."

"It's nothing Sherlock," John repeated. He wanted to look Sherlock in the eye and say that, but he knew that if he tried he would crumble. Instead he crossed his arms in front of himself, well aware that the defensive gesture had started when he was a child trying to protect his wings by wrapping his arms around them.

Sherlock frowned as he examined John further. There was something wrong and he was determined to find out what it was. He racked his brain for anything that would put John out of sorts, but the only thing that he could think of was that John would feel guilty for lying to Sherlock. "Irene's alive," he said suddenly. He hadn't originally planned on telling John, but he hated to see the man so upset. He would do anything to put him in a better mood.

"I know," John sighed, but that didn't seem to lighten his mood.

"No John," Sherlock pressed, his wings twitching outward in an attempt to command John, but staying against him in an almost guilty way. "You don't understand. I mean she's alive. I helped her escape and I helped her fake her own death."

"I know Sherlock," John admitted. His wings closed tighter around him as he realized where this conversation was heading. He felt safe wrapped in his own wings. He was, after all, the only man that he could trust completely now that his parents were dead.

"What?" Sherlock's eyes widened and his wings twitched with the shock of it. How did John possibly know that?

"I'm not very good at lying," John sighed. "I know I'm not. I told you that lie while I geared myself up for you to spout off all your deductions about how you could tell that I was lying. I figured that, if I gave you something else to concentrate on, the news about her death wouldn't have such an impact. The only problem was that you didn't say anything of the sort. You just asked for her phone. It could have been that you wanted to believe me, but you aren't that type of person. You knew that I was lying, but you also knew that Mycroft didn't know all of the truth either. Mycroft did say that only you would be able to fool him into thinking that she was dead."

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock said as he pulled his wings tightly closed so that he wouldn't be a threat. "I didn't want to fool you."

"Yes you did Sherlock," John said. "You would never have told me if you didn't want me to feel better." There was a silence between them and John's wings pulled tighter around him. They were almost constricting him now, but he needed them there. He needed the comfort of his wings. The only thing that would be better for him now would be to take flight and just let all of his worries drift away from him in the night sky. "I'm going to go for a walk."

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock stood at the same time John did and his wings reached out to catch John before he could make it to the door. John stopped moving in the cocoon that Sherlock made around them. Suddenly the wings around him didn't feel so comforting. Suddenly they just made it hard for him to breathe.

"I need to get out of here," John said. He was on the verge of being frantic.

"Please John," Sherlock didn't notice John's distress so he tightened his wings in an attempt to bring John just that little bit closer that would allow him to hold him.

John could almost feel the wings closing in on him. His whole body went rigid and his breathing stuttered unevenly, but he didn't move. No matter how frightened he was, he would not try to force his way out and possibly hurt Sherlock.

"John?" Sherlock froze when he saw John start to slip into what he could only describe as a panic attack.

"I need to get out of here," John forced out despite his frantic breathing. This time Sherlock allowed his wings to open enough to allow John to slip through them and John practically ran out of the flat.

Sherlock watched him go with more than a little bit of worry, but he did not try to stop him again and he did not try to follow him. If John needed to be alone, then Sherlock would let him be alone even if Sherlock didn't want to be alone. Sherlock pulled his wings around his body to hug himself with them in the hopes that they would provide the same comfort they always had when he was teased by all of the other kids, but it wasn't nearly enough this time.

* * *

It took a while, but John was finally able to return to normal around Sherlock. Unfortunately, right as this was happening, Moriarty returned to the picture. The man began to ruin Sherlock's reputation, literally destroying his work that he had always claimed to be married to, and laughed along the way. One by one, all of the people that Sherlock knew turned against him. All except one.

John knew what was going on. He knew what Moriarty was attempting to do. And he did everything that he could to try to stop it. He posted several things on his blog about how Sherlock was the real deal, but no one ever believed him. Not even Detective Inspector Lestrade. He failed and, he believed, because of that Sherlock jumped from atop St. Bart's and committed suicide. It was all John's fault.

For several months after that, John felt that he didn't deserve to live. More than once, he found himself sitting in Sherlock's room with a gun held to his head or a bottle of pills firmly in his hand. But he couldn't allow himself to die. He had to live on if only for the fact that he could save other's lives.

He would never have thought of that if he hadn't been asked to perform an ultrasound on a very pregnant woman.

* * *

"It looks like your baby boy is very healthy," John said with a smile as he moved the ultrasound around and pointed out the various things that they would be able to recognize.

"Oh thank god," the woman said. She, apparently, had endured many miscarriages to finally make it to this child.

Then John came upon something that shocked him. His wings stiffened when his body could not for fear of worrying the family as he saw something that he had never expected. The child inside this wingless woman had wings. He had to check several times, but he was absolutely certain that those little things were wings. They wouldn't be noticeable to anyone who wasn't trained to see them as he was. Most wings weren't because they were held so close to the body. In fact, the only reason that his own parents had been able to see his wings through the ultrasound was because of how big they were and even then they weren't actually sure.

John finished the ultrasound before taking the father aside to talk to him in private.

"Is there something wrong doctor?" the father whispered so that he wouldn't worry his wife. "Is the baby in any danger?"

"The baby is completely healthy," John reaffirmed. "And so is your wife. Neither is in any danger."

"Then what is the matter?" the father asked.

"When your wife goes into labor," John said, "you have to come to me. No matter what, you have to come to me."

"I don't understand doctor," the father frowned. "Why?"

"Trust me," John said in his most soothing way. "It will be better for the baby this way. Here is my card." He handed the man his card. "I wrote both my cell phone number and my home address on the back. When your wife goes into labor, I want you to call my cell phone so that I can be ready for the two of them and then, no matter if I'm at home or the hospital, I want you to come to me. Don't worry, I do have hospital grad equipment and medicines at my house so there will be no risk to either your wife or to the child if you have to come to my house."

"I don't understand," the man said as he stared at the card.

"Trust me," John repeated. "This is what is best for your baby."

The father finally nodded and he and his wife left the hospital.

It was almost a week later, right around the time that the woman had told him that she was due, that he received a phone call. He had just been settling down on his couch with a nice cup of tea when it rang. He answered it to find the husband on the other side of the line as he corralled his wife into a taxi.

"Alright," John said. "Take her to my address and I will be ready for you." The man agreed so he hung up and rushed down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson!" he called. "I'm going to be using 221C again." Sherlock had long ago made the basement of 221 Baker Street into a kind of hospital room so that John would be able to treat him and any other random strangers that John came by in a hospital environment as a birthday present for John and Mycroft was still paying rent.

"All right dearie," Mrs. Hudson called out. She was already used to John using the basement and knew that the only reason the man told her was so that she would stay out of his way unless he needed her. He didn't like anyone getting in his way when he was in his doctor mode. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson!" John yelled from the basement as he got the room ready for a delivery. Sherlock really had gotten him everything. John would have told him that it was way too much for a birthday present, but he knew that it would help so many people so he decided to just leave it. Sherlock was wealthy anyway and he would probably be the main benefactor of the room. Well that was until he died.

It took five minutes for the couple to arrive and, after John got the two of them settled, another twenty hours of labor before the mom was finally able to push. John had called in sick for work so he didn't leave the family unless they asked to be alone. Finally, when the time came, John coaxed the woman through the birthing process until there was a crying winged baby in his arms.

"Do you want to cut the chord?" John asked the father after he had tied off both ends. The father nodded slowly, still slightly awed by his child, and cut the chord so that John could hand the baby to his mother. "Meet your new baby boy," he said.

"He's so beautiful," the woman smiled.

"He has wings," the father gaped.

"If you'll just let me see him for a short moment," John said, "I'm just going to go through the basic checks." The mother nodded and handed the baby back to John. He stayed right next to her as he checked the baby's eyes and all the normal things before he carefully checked the brown wings that were flapping around wildly as the baby fussed. "He appears to be completely healthy," John smiled as he handed the baby back to his mother.

"Thank you," the mother cried. "Thank you so much."

"Is this why you wanted us to come to you?" the father asked after a moment of basking in the sight of his little baby boy.

"Yes," John nodded. "They don't look kindly on a lower class winged child. I didn't want you guys to suffer that loss."

"Thank you," the father had tears rolling down his eyes now. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," John nodded again as he wings twitched in pleasure at being able to help this family, "but now I must caution you. Your child is different from other lower class children. They can't take him from you now that you know that he has wings, but I'm sure they can do something else that would not be delightful. I caution you to keep your child's wings hidden from the world, but don't stop him from flying. Just be certain that no one is around when he does."

"Can we do that?" the mother asked. "Is it possible to keep that a secret for so long?"

"It is possible," John nodded. "I have kept my own wings a secret for as long as I have lived."

"You have wings?" the father asked.

"I do," John nodded as he allowed them to stretch his shirt just enough that they could see the imprint of them without damaging his clothes. "Don't worry," he consoled them. "Many of the other wingless will willingly help you keep your secret, but don't count on it because people can do some horrible things when they are jealous."

"Thank you," the family said again. "Thank you so much."

* * *

John kept them over night so that he could monitor the baby, but, when he found no signs of trouble, he let the family go on their way. They left many thank yous in their wake along with a single feather from their newborn and then left. John looked at that feather for hours before he realized that his depression was helping no one. He could do the right thing. He could help save the wingless parents keep their winged children as long as he stayed alive.

John found himself visited by many expectant parent after that and he was happy to birth several winged children to wingless families. It actually shocked him to find out how many wingless parents were actually having winged children. When he had seen that first child born, he had just assumed that it was a fluke of biology, but now he was starting to believe that it was something more. He began to investigate, and he finally found his answers. He was about to go to Mycroft about his findings three years later when something amazing happened.

Sherlock Holmes returned from the dead.

* * *

At first John didn't recognize the winged man in his living room. He was afraid that it might be one of them coming to punish him for helping out so many wingless parents. He was afraid that one of the ones that he had helped was caught and that they gave him up. He was afraid that They now knew about his own wings. He was afraid until he saw the color and size of the wings.

No winged human had the same colored wings. They could have similar sizes and similar shapes, but the were never exactly the same. Not even identical twins had the same wings.

That's why, when John saw the pitch black wings spread across the back of his couch, he knew exactly who was in his living room.

"You bastard," he hissed as he stood in the entryway glaring at the winged man. His wings tightened around him and he could feel the beginnings of another panic attack coming on.

"John," Sherlock said calmly as he stood up from his place. His wings immediately tuck behind him in a placating gesture. "I had a good reason."

"You bloody well better have," John growled.

"I had to protect you," Sherlock insisted. "If I didn't jump, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and you would have been shot and killed. I couldn't let Moriarty kill you."

"So you jumped," John said and Sherlock nodded. "Why didn't you come back then? Why did you let me think that you were dead for three years before you returned?"

"I had to," Sherlock explain. "I had to get rid of Sebastian Moran so that he wouldn't be able to kill you when he realized that I was still alive. I had to dismantle all of Moriarty's crew before I returned. I admit that it took me longer to do it then I thought it would have, but I'm done now and I've returned. I'm alive." Sherlock extended his wings around John carefully so as not to freak him out like he had the first time he did it. This time he didn't make any move to contract his wings and pull John closer, though.

"I need to think Sherlock," John shook his head. "I need to wrap my head around all of this." He needed to fly.

"I understand," Sherlock's wings retreated to behind his back again. "I will be here when you return."

"You'd better," John growled before he stalked out of the building.

* * *

John wound up punching Sherlock when he returned, but otherwise accepted the return of the role as Sherlock's sidekick. Bringing his knowledge about Them to the attention of Mycroft fell to the back of his brain as he and Sherlock worked to renew Sherlock's credibility. He didn't, however, stop helping them out. Sherlock knew not to go into 221 C when John was using it just as much as Mrs. Hudson did so there was still only a slight chance of Sherlock finding out about it.

Soon after Sherlock's credibility had been restored, Mycroft "invited" the two of them come to a party to celebrate the military. And what asked really meant was demand as a return favor for helping Sherlock fake his death. Apparently this party was very important, though, because the only way that Sherlock agreed to allow both himself and John to go was if Mycroft accepted that they were even. Mycroft accepted much to easily.

So John found himself dressing in his dress uniform. He figured that, if he could get Mycroft alone, now would be as good a time as any to talk to the man about what he knew. He just hoped that nothing went wrong.

* * *

"Are you sure I should be here," John said as he adjusted his collar nervously. He was the only man in the room who didn't have wings. At least the only one that no one knew had wings. He was also probably the only one who had really served in the military. Everyone else in the room almost seemed to perfect to have done anything really dangerous.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Mycroft is forcing us both to be here so that I can pay off my favors to him."

"I don't see why I have to help you pay off your favors," John pointed out.

"Nonsense John," Sherlock said as his wings twitched in amusement. "One of those favors kept your little clinic up and running while I was away. Apparently you were very busy."

John scowled. That was true. "But I don't understand why I'm here," he said. "I don't really think that they want a wingless man such as myself at a winged party."

"Apparently we were invited by the prince himself," Sherlock finally divulged. John froze and his wings immediately wrapped so tightly around him that he couldn't breathe. He was going into a panic attack. He was going to see the prince. The only man that didn't know that his wings were supposed to be a secret. "John?" Sherlock asked as he noticed John's sudden change in behavior. His wings extended and blocked the whole room from seeing John's moment of weakness, which John was grateful for.

"I want to leave Sherlock," John said.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "Why?"

"Please Sherlock," John begged. "I'll make it up to you later. Just please let me leave."

Sherlock was just about to agree, but he was interrupted by a very annoying voice that he could hardly misplace.

"Gentlemen," Mycroft said with his annoying smirk. Sherlock glared at him, but John couldn't see him through Sherlock's wing. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"We're leaving," Sherlock said. "We've come to your party. That should be enough."

"Oh no you don't Sherlock," Mycroft's grey wings extended to their full length showing that they were just slightly bigger then Sherlock's even though they were just slightly smaller than the prince's. "You promised to at least meet the prince. He asked for the two of you personally you know."

"We're leaving," Sherlock said again. He would have challenged his brother by extending his own wings in the same stance despite his smaller size, but he didn't want to remove the wing hiding John's still panicking form from sight.

"You are very welcome to try," Mycroft smirked, "but I have posted several guards all around the perimeter that have been instructed to return you should you try to escape."

Sherlock growled as John realized the utter hopelessness of the situation. He was going to be outed and there was nothing he could do about it. Slowly, John calmed himself down enough to loosen his wings before finally nodding to Sherlock who had been watching him through out the whole process.

"Fine," Sherlock hissed as he allowed his wings to tuck behind himself once again, "but take us to see the prince now so that we can get out of here. You know how I hate these social gatherings."

"Very well," Mycroft nodded knowing that if he didn't take Sherlock to see the prince soon then the man would try to escape despite his warnings. And probably succeed too. "Come with me."

The three of them made their way through the large ballroom until John saw familiar wings.

"There you are Mycroft," the prince smiled as he broke off his conversation with a beautiful young woman who had medium colorful wings. "I was wondering where you had gone off to."

"My prince," Mycroft bowed slightly before turning to the side to reveal Sherlock and John. "This is my brother, Sherlock Holmes, and his Doctor, John Watson."

The prince shook Sherlock's hand easily, but when he looked at John his eyes widened in shock. "What happened to your wings?!" he asked very loudly. Everything stopped and everyone turned to look at John.

"I was born a lowerclassman," John said hoping that the man didn't recognize him and had only assumed that he would have wings because he was friends with Sherlock.

"But I saw them," the prince said. "During the war when you were healing me. I saw your wings."

"Perhaps you have the wrong man," John tried.

"There is no record of John ever having wings," Mycroft agreed. "Or of any lowerclassman having wings."

"That might be because you've been switching winged lowerclassman with wingless upperclassman," John slipped. He didn't mean to let that out in a room full of people, but now that it was out he would have to continue.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mycroft raised a brow, but Sherlock could tell that he was lying.

"Really?" John raised his own brow. He knew how to deal with a Holmes. "I've been helping wingless parents hid their winged children for almost three years now. Don't you think it's strange that it just now happened that so many winged children were being born in the lower class families? I did. That's why I investigated it further. The government has been switching winged lower class winged children with upper class wingless children for _years _just so that the class system can remain in tact. I'm guessing that at least a quarter of the people in this room were lowerclassman before the government switched them."

"Is this true Mycroft?" the prince asked.

Mycroft clenched his fists, but nodded his head nervously. It was true and he had been a part of it ever since he joined the government even as just a small worker.

The prince looked horrified. "I want this to stop immediately," the prince demanded. "I want a press release that tells everyone that we are no longer going to be doing that."

"Sir," Mycroft said. "That's not a good idea. If you do that, then there will be chaos."

"I don't care what you do," the prince extended his own wings in his commanding tone and John couldn't help feel proud that the man was actually thinking about someone other than himself, "just fix this."

"Yes sir," Mycroft nodded before he retreated out of the room so that he could do as he was ordered. John's wings twitched against his skin in delight that it had gone a lot easier than he had originally thought. He knew that he would probably be hearing from Mycroft in the near future, but he didn't really care because he had won.

"I'm so sorry Captain Watson," the prince said. "I didn't know this was happening."

"It's fine," John shook his head. "I'm just glad that it will finally be fixed."

"What about your wings?" the prince asked. "I know that you had them at one point. Did you get injured? Did you lose them?"

"I was invalided home from the army after I got shot in the shoulder, but no, my wings are unharmed."

"You have wings?" Sherlock asked. Suddenly, everything made sense. It was all so obvious and yet he had missed it simply because he thought that it wasn't possible for a lowerclassman to have wings. His wings twitched in delight at the thought of seeing John with wings.

"Yes Sherlock," John sighed. "I have wings."

"Why aren't they out, though?" the prince asked. "Why are you hiding them?"

"I am of a lower class family," John reminds the man. "I wasn't supposed to have these wings so I kept them a secret. The only reason I was able to wear them out in the open during the war was because everyone agreed to keep them a secret. You were the only one who didn't actually know about my status."

"I thought that you were going to be really high up in the upper class since your wings were bigger than mine," the prince admitted. "No one's ever had wings bigger than mine."

"The size of the wing represents power," John explained, "but power doesn't always equate to money."

"What is your power?" the prince asked.

"It's the power to change people," Sherlock smirked proudly and his wing wrapped around John's shoulder. For the first time, Sherlock was allowed to touch John and actually feel the bumps near his shoulder blade where the man's wings came out of his skin only to curl around his body in a tight embrace.

John blushed at the contact, but he made no movement to stop Sherlock. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him and he found that he enjoyed the contact. Especially since it was Sherlock.

"Can I see them Captain?" the prince asked.

"Please call me John," John said immediately. It wasn't exactly something a common man would say to the prince, but John felt like this man was a brother to him just like all the other men that served in the army were brothers to him.

"Alright," the prince smiled because he liked finally having a man who treated him as an actual person. "Can I see your wings John?"

"Alright," John sighed. "I have to go in another room to take them out though."

"Very well," the prince replied.

"Here Sherlock," John said as he pulled off his coat and handed it to him. "Could you hold this for me for a bit."

"Of course," Sherlock agreed.

John left the room and Sherlock waited impatiently, completely ignoring the prince, for John to return and reveal to everyone his big secret that he had kept for so long. Moments later John returned with two tears in the back of his shirt that were caused by the army knife kept in his pocket and two pure white wings protruding from his back. Everyone stared in awe at the beauty of the wings before them. Especially Sherlock.

"There you go," John said as his wings extended to stretch happily. Many people were forced to move out of his way as the things extended to their full length.

Sherlock loved this. John's wings were huge, but they complimented him perfectly. John looked like an angel sent from heaven and, Sherlock thought, he very well could be sent from heaven for the purpose of breaking the system. "You're beautiful," he said and suddenly they were the only two in the room.

John blushed and moved from side to side nervously. He had never expected to hear that from Sherlock who had clearly stated that he was married to his work on the first chance that he got. John's wings retracted behind his back in a relaxed position and Sherlock was more than happy about it. As much as he loved to see the wings at their full length, Sherlock knew that he would like doing what's next way more. He wrapped his pitch-black wings around John, pure white wings and all, and pulled him flush against his chest before he leaned down and kissed his doctor. His blogger. His soldier. His lover.

John took only one shocked moment to understand what was going on before he finally allowed himself to return the affection. He was kissing his flat mate. His genius. His consulting detective. His lover.

"Yes!" the prince shouted, breaking the two of them apart, though Sherlock refused to loosen his hold on Watson as he had also wrapped his arm around the man's waist to hold him in place. "I was wondering when you guys would get together. I mean that blog of yours totally showed that you two had feelings for each other, but you still weren't together."

John blushed as he realized that they really weren't the only ones in the large ballroom, but Sherlock just smirked proudly as he held onto the most powerful man in the world. And he would never let go.

* * *

Phew! That was a seriously long oneshot. It definately wasn't meant to end up this long. Apparently I have a really hard time writing plain old oneshots. I keep starting them and then they turn into something that could be chapters. I would have broken this one into chapters too since it's so long, but I didn't want to break it at any point. Oh well.

I hope you guys like this story. Please Read and Review and if you have any suggestions slash requests that you would like me to do, please let me know.


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